Down in Flames
by RainWillMakeTheFlowersGrow
Summary: Down in flames. The barricade is burning. Vive les peuples. Barricade era, AU.


So I have had this idea for a while now...What if the barricades burned down? Not sparing Les Amis...sorry...but this is my interpretation. Starting out as a oneshot, but who knows, once I finish one of my other stories I might make something more out of this. -Marseillaise

Down in Flames

1832

"Who's there?"

"French Revolution!"

"Fire!"

At first, it seemed perfectly normal, or at least the perverted normal they were living inside barricade. Gunfire rained down like a deadly hailstorm, and both sides fought with equal bravery and courage.

Then. The order was given to retreat, and of course the National Guard did. Confused, Enjolras looked around. They had sustained losses, as had the Guard, but both had the ability to continue fighting. Utop the barricade, he looked through the increasingly thick gunsmoke to the streets below...

Increasingly thick gunsmoke. The guns had stopped. If they had stopped, there shouldn't be any smoke. That left only one explanation...

"Get out! They've lit the barricade on fire!" Enjolras shouted.

"It's surrounding us!"

"We cannot get out!"

"Enjolras! What can we do?"

The blond looked down at the faces drawn with worry and desparation. "I..." he trailed off.

The fire was big enough to be seen, snaking its way on strategically placed wooden beams to the barricade, on either side. No one dared climb over, but staying inside seemed no better option.

No one could have planned for this. They expected death, of course, for not all could survive anyway, but dying bravely, fighting for their country. Not...not burned alive, inside the very construction that stood for freedom.

Courfeyrac looked panicked, but held together, because he was trying to comfort another, barely eighteen, a boy who had joined as the riot erupted.

It didn't help when they heard Jean Prouvaire defiantly yell his last tribute to a burning cause, or when the shots rang out and they saw through the haze his body being dragged through blood to a pile.

They looked to their leader, of course. Combeferre, with tears from not just the smoke running down his face, looking up at him and mouthing, "what can we do?".

"We need to wet the gunpowder," said Enjolras finally. "Go into the wine shop and get as much water as you can."

They did as they were told, but the flames just crept closer, a firey orange crackle of imminent death. At best, wetting the gunpowder would prolong the agony.

Enjolras made a final speech as the heat of the flames began to bring out a sweat. "My friends...we shall become martyrs. The remains of the barricades will give birth to a new Republic, as a phoenix rises from the ashes. Though we may not live to see it, a brilliant dawn awaits the French someday soon. One day, the people will rise, and they will fight in our names. It is not in vain that we die; rather, from our ashes a beautiful Republic can rise. Remember that."

It was an incredibly short speech, but it got the point accross.

Courfeyrac's hat caught on fire, and the young man tore it off.

As the barricade was consumed by the flames, the flag seemed to fly of its own accord. As it caught fire, the red cloth tore apart, bits of burning flag flying on the updrafts caused by the smoke all over Paris.

XXX

Grantaire was woken by the heat. Blistering heat. In the upper room of the Corinthe, he sat up. Flames licked the stairs, and he realised quickly what had happened. Half choking, he ran down through the smoke and fire to the barricade, where the half-burned figures seemed to taunt him. Did he even deserve to die with them?

Yes, he decided. In flames we will burn.

XXX

"Set fire to the barricades."

That was the order of the officer, and René knew that it pained him to say it. Because life was life. But war was war.

So he set fire to the barricade, shutting his mind to the facts that they were just boys, his age...fighting for a Republic...

Down went the barricade. And the screams were hard enough, but the sobs were worse.

He saw the figure from the wine shop blunder around, and suddenly drop to its knees by a body near the flag.  
The figure curled in a ball next to the body, and then a flaming log crashed down and René's view was blocked.

But he had seen enough. They weren't just targets, they were people, with families and homes and loves. And now, because of him, nothing of it would survive.

He turned away, because he wasn't worthy to gaze at the destruction.

They put the fire out, later, and he saw the charred bodies. Some had died next to each other, holding hands, some had died alone. Above the wine shop door, an inscription read, "VIVE LES PEUPLES". Long live the people.

XXX

1848

" 'VIVE LES PEUPLES'. This was where the barricade of Chanvrérie fell, correct?" said the man, pointing to a faded etching on the wall.

René nodded. He would never tell how he knew. "Vive les peuples...

"Thirty-five brave men perished here. We fight in their names," he said, "and the Republic will rise from their ashes."

XXX

LATER

"Vive la France!"

"The Republic, succeeded," murmured René. "This is what they wanted."

And, rising with the swelling crowd, he chanted along with them, "vive la France! Vive la Republique!"

Because he realised now where his allegiances were.

Well? Was it good? :)

-Marseillaise


End file.
